What We Need is a Working Title
by SallySorrell
Summary: Howard and Vince need to settle on a name for themselves. And some boundaries. In which Vince is his sunshiney self and Howard is worried that he doesn't deserve him.
1. Chapter 1

The shop had been closed for nearly an hour, but Vince and Howard had not moved much since, other than flipping the sign over. Howard was still lingering by the door, while Vince watched from behind the counter, using his fingernails to scratch the price-sticker off of his newest edition of _Cheekbone_. He had promised that he would wait to read it until closer to bedtime. Howard had orchestrated a very important conversation for them, so he claimed. Or had at least spent the whole day building up the bravery for it.

"I'm not the same man as I was when you met me, Vince."

"No kidding," he thought about making this into a joke about the former Howard's death or kidnapping or something justifiable, but it was difficult to do. It was distracting, the way this assuredly new Howard stood confidently against the doorframe, rather than swaying nervously away from it. Vince caught his eyes for a moment, which both understood as an enquiry.

"No kidding, no sir," Howard said smoothly, "I'm the courtship chameleon. That's what they call me on the streets."

Vince tossed his head back.

"Ugh, I don't like _anyone_ calling at you on the streets. Who was it this time?"

"No one," sighed Howard, "Why, what would you do to them?"

Vince leaned against the shop counter, facing Howard but only occasionally looking at him.

"Talking about my man like that? I'd put them in their place, that's what."

"Oh, their place? Like your place isn't standing behind me, in this whole situation."

Howard had forgotten what they were originally talking about. As had Vince, who always somehow flitted back to it, like a confused little bird following a bit of foil down the road, only to finally catch it and find it empty.

"I don't see why you have to have a word for us," Vince's voice was light, and he drew a line between them with his finger. As he pulled it back to his chest, Howard caught himself leaning into it, as if caught on a hook. He stepped closer to the counter.

"I like to have things defined, that's all."

"There's not a word for it; we've got the definition already."

"So we're working backwards."

"You've lost it."

Vince's attention wandered to the drawer beside the till, from which he removed a half-finished packet of black licorice. He said 'brilliant' to himself, offered one to Howard on the assumption he would refuse, and leaned back against the shelves to enjoy them properly.

"Where did we leave off?" Howard prompted, looking - perhaps too intently - at Vince's lips while he ate.

"Holding hands, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Howard, "if you don't overdo it."

"Cheers" grinned Vince, "I thought you hated people even touching you."

"You're not 'people', Vince, not anymore."

All the reward and reassurance Howard ever could have hoped for was there in Vince's smile, which he tucked away slightly behind his hand in embarrassment. That's how Howard knew he'd said something good. Or funny, if Vince started laughing. But he didn't this time.

"It's all about compromise," Howard proceeded, "Just one of the chameleon's many colours."

"Compromise? What shade's that?"

"Stop."

"What does it go with?"

"Stop it now."

"Sorry," Vince said. It was an autoimmune response to the bickering, by now. He recovered quickly. "What about kisses?"

Howard crossed his arms on top of the counter. He was close enough to kiss Vince now, if he wanted to.

"They're okay," he said, giving a verbal sort of shrug, "I don't _dis_ like them."

"Really? Even last time?!"

Howard had tried, almost successfully, to block 'last time' from his memory.

"You can't do it on stage, even if it's after a gig."

"Aww," Vince pouted, "I waited 'til the curtains were closed and everything."

"You.. you rushed me. Could've knocked me over or choked me or something. You've gotta warn me."

"Like it's some sort of terminal illness? It's just a _kiss_." Then, "Sorry, Howard. I'll try to."

He returned to the stash of sweets, looking for something Howard would like. He slid a Bounty bar across the counter, and Howard thanked him, all without words.

"Dancing?"

"Of course," scoffed Howard, "Who did you think you were talking to? I'm a man of rhythm."

"Great," said Vince, glancing longingly toward the kitchen, "Can we finish up in a bit, though? I was gonna make tea…"

"Making tea," In his mind, Howard backpedaled to this part of the definition, which they had already established, "We switch off. It's my go."

"Then I'll watch," Vince said, content as he always was when someone volunteered to do anything for him. But, at the same time, he was now out of exit opportunities from the conversation. His face twisted between the two feelings, unable to settle.

After the third cup Howard slid in front of him, though, he made up his mind to enjoy himself. It was nice to see Howard happy, anyway.

"What about, say, we decide to pull a prank on someone, and we're-"

"On who?" Howard interrupted.

"I don't know. Naboo. We're pulling a prank on Naboo. We wait until we hear him outside -yeah?- and then, when he opens the door - bam! - there we are in the doorway, making out. Would _that_ be okay?"

Howard was indisputably new at this type of thing, but it sounded to him like Vince was already pulling a prank.

"Something like that is _that_ important to relationships?"

"Is to mine," Vince chuckled to himself, "It's all about the sense of humour. It's like a style."

"Is that what this is to you: a joke?"

Vince fiddled with the teaspoon in his mug, stirring the mostly-empty and miserably cold cup of tea more than should ever be necessary.

"'Course not," he said at last.

"It doesn't seem like you're taking it seriously right now. Like you don't realize how important it is to me, that we get this all sorted ahead of time."

"Ahead of time?" Vince was surprised, "What do you call the last ten times we went out?"

"Just... ten times we went out," Howard said, with frustration backing him up against a wall of confusion, "We haven't changed _that_ much, Vince. We're just calling it something new, now, and I'm not used to that yet. I'm-"

"You're getting a little too deep for me right now, Howard," Vince interrupted. Nothing. He reached his hand across the table, setting it down well within Howard's line of vision before reaching to actually touch him, "Howard?"

"Hmm?" he looked at Vince's hand, as it settled over his own.

"I thought you were a chameleon."

He gave a single, breathy laugh.

"I'm trying to be."

"I can tell it's hard for you as it is," Vince admitted, "But I know you won't give up on it, because you've had your whole life to do that, and you haven't yet."

Howard leaned back, uncomfortably, but not far enough to free himself from Vince's hand. He liked that, for the time being. He had never been any good at defining his own comforts - at least when Vince wasn't around - so he always said no to everything. There were a few things he was convinced he wouldn't like, and he was still working up the courage to actually say them, even though he was fairly sure Vince would understand. He tried.

"That's why I need the definition… I need to make sure we both know what we're getting into, so no one's uncomfortable. I mean, you know that I haven't… you know that I'm… that I just can't. I really care about you, but I can't… er… I don't want you to be upset with me, uhm, because of _that_. Just because I won't. Sleep with. You."

"You won't sleep with me?"

Howard suddenly felt very lightheaded, wanting to sit down and forgetting he already was.

"I never expected us to have sex, Howard, but I was kind of looking forward to sleeping in your bed. I quite like a cuddle."

"So you aren't all heartbroken, over that? You're-?"

"Look," said Vince, squeezing Howard's hand, "I could've left too, you know. If I wanted to, I could've found someone like that," he emphasised this with another definitive squeeze, then let Howard's hand go.

"Yeah, I know you could've."

"Right. So you don't have to worry about us, definition or not. But if you want a definition, I won't let you down. I'll write it out and tape it up on the wall in our room. I'll frame it, if you want."

"I'd like that," he said, staring at his teacup so Vince couldn't pick up on the joy in his eyes. Usually, this was followed by Vince squinting comically at him, and trying to discern whether or not he was crying.

"Good," Vince said, "I won't be a minute."

Howard wanted to protest him leaving at all - Vince added such a warmth to the drab little box of a kitchen - but it was too late. Vince had sidestepped out, but returned as promised. He held _Cheekbone_ in one hand, and the only biro Howard would let him loan from Stationery Village in the other.

He returned to his seat, found the most minimally decorated of pages, and carefully tore it out.

"Right," Vince practically hummed, "Where'd we leave off at?"

"Pranks on Naboo."

"Oh yeah, that's genius," he wrote in his neat - if somewhat frilly - cursive. "So, cuddling? Like if it's cold, we can snuggle up together."

"You're making me sick, just saying that."

"I won't write it."

"No, do. I think it's just nerves."

"And what about," Vince continued immediately, "instead of both trying to fit in your bed, we just trade for a double?"

"Trade where?"

"Naboo's got a double."

"Has he really?"

"Yeah. Come on, we'll do it now. I'll write it down and then we'll go."

"You're so…" Howard began, as Vince led him up the stairs, "You're so pretty, when you're being decisive."

"I'm always pretty," Vince nodded, "but I know what you mean. You are too; you're ridiculous."

 _Ridiculous_? Howard thought, as Vince threw open the bedroom door. Howard rolled his eyes.

"I don't think this is gonna work," he said, while Vince lunged for the headboard of his bed, "We'd need to have room for all three of them to-"

"Shh," Vince turned quickly around.

"-Fit out here, before we-"

"No, shh."

"Hmm?"

"Was that the shop door? Sounded like keys."

Howard moved closer to the stairs, internally rehearsing his 'please don't kill me' speech, which he was forced to give almost every time the shop had a visitor.

Vince grabbed his hand and stopped him, pulling him back into the doorway.

"I know that you know what I have to do," Vince said, in a tone he hoped Howard would classify as a warning.

He bit his lip. Vince took his hands.

"I do."

Vince had definitely 'rushed' him, this time; he forced Howard against the open door.

"And you know that I don't know what I'm doing."

"'S fine," Vince leaned forward, standing on his toes, "That's not in your definition. Not at all."

Howard got in about half of a relieved sigh, before Vince's lips stopped him. Probably some lipstick, too. He would look later.

He had one hand curled around Vince's hip, and the other buried between a few hundred layers of his hair - both were intentionally placed by Vince. That was all Howard remembered, when he heard Naboo padding up the stairs.

"Ugh," he exclaimed, stopping dead at the top of the staircase, "You can just _ask_ me."

He waved his hands, muttered something quickly and disgustedly, and stomped off to his room. Vince was the one to separate them. They watched their beds melt together, for every inch they pulled apart.

"Thanks, Naboo," Vince called, "That's genius."

Howard stood quietly against the door. He was still working on remembering to breathe. The nerves had gone, after a brief peak where he considered passing out, if he could force himself.

Vince had already dug a jar of makeup remover from his nightstand, and set it down in the center of the bed to confirm it was sturdy. _As if that would help_ , Howard thought. But he moved nearer, regardless.

"Here," Vince patted the vacant side of the bed, "sit down, relax, and I'll take my foundation off of both of us."

He moved immediately to what was now his side of the bed, where Vince welcomed him with a gentle, guiding hand. Howard had never - in all his life - felt so comfortable and confident. He was going to call it an eclipse, with Vince being made out of sunshine or something, and choosing to settle down with him.

"...It's good," he managed, instead.

Vince patted the towel against Howard's lips, then his own, until they were smooth and clean. With what was arguably the only demanding bit of his day finished, Vince sighed, stretched his arms up over his head, and then folded himself into the space against Howard's shoulder.

"We can put the definition there," he said, waving his finger too vaguely to be of any help. Howard assumed he meant somewhere above the headboard, near the middle.

Howard asked if he should stroke Vince's hair. He wasn't sure what else to do with it, bouncing away in front of him as Vince spoke.

"Go on," Vince agreed, "it's the end of the day, anyway."

He did, until Vince was very still and mostly asleep. It was conducive to his thought process. Very important.

"Did you decide on a word for us, yet?" Vince yawned, knowing Howard would understand him without making him repeat it.

"Yeah. The word for us is 'soulmate.'"

"Is it?"

"Think so. Do you have a better one?"

Vince turned his head for a moment, just to check how Howard meant this; he had to look at his eyes. It was genuine.

"What about like, moon and stars?"

"So I'm a great lump of rock, and you get to be not one - but multiple - _stars_."

"'S wrong with that?"

"It's a little bit cutesy."

"And 'soulmate' is what, edgy and dark? I'm your beacon of light, Howard. I'm like a lighthouse, at least. We both know that."

"Sure you are. Don't push it."

"I'm painting it on the wall before you're even awake tomorrow. First thing, after your midnight haircut."

"Right. You'd be totally nocturnal, if not for me."

"I _was_ nocturnal _cos_ of you. Do you remember - back at the zoo - sometimes we'd be so knackered after a night shift, we'd get our sleeping bags out. Like little children, even though we had a couch and that arm-chair, as well…"

Just as they had done back then, Howard fell asleep to the sound of Vince's smoothest storytelling voice. Only then could Vince relax, lean into Howard's chest, and drift off to the rhythm of his breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's a bit early to have your diary out, isn't it?"

 _What kind of 'good morning' is that?_ Howard thought, followed immediately by, _Fair enough, I could've at least left the bed._

Vince had rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one arm. He glanced playfully up at Howard, who sat against the headboard consulting his schedule.

"What you doin'?" Vince proceeded, seeming to nudge him with every unnecessary blink of his eyes. He had just woken up, but his face looked perfect, as far as Howard could tell.

"I'm just crossing out yesterday."

Vince scooted closer to him, and confirmed with a well-practiced and particular nod that Howard was comfortable with the proximity. _Fine_ , Howard's expression said back, after he tugged down his vest. It usually became twisted up, due to the restless nature of Howard's sleep, and it required a different mood altogether for him to let Vince touch his skin.

"Get stuffed," Vince exclaimed, leaning over the page, "You're planning a _date_ for tonight."

"Am not," said Howard, trying to inconspicuously cover the words with the pen.

"I can see my name from here. You've got to stop underlining it like that; it's ridiculous. And it's in red. That says 'date' to me."

"It doesn't say 'date,'" Howard sighed.

"What's it say?"

" _Outing_."

"That is quite good," Vince admitted, finding Howard's eyes, "More theatrical."

Howard drew a line somewhere over the square for the day; Vince couldn't tell which part had been axed. But Howard gave him enough of a hint.

"Is it? I was going for less, if anything... Less romantic."

Vince reached for the diary, and flattened it so he could read it.

"It's too late for that," he giggled, satisfied with his findings, "There's lots of things I could think of that are less romantic than the _flower show_."

Howard rolled his eyes, and let Vince take the book completely away from him. Vince held out his hand and waited for the pen, too.

"You're not changing that," Howard warned, as he passed it to him, "I've had the tickets for ages."

"I'm not changing it," Vince was sincere, "I like it. It's just… it's a bit posh for you, isn't it?"

"It's called culture."

"Pretty sure it isn't."

"It is," Howard said, definitively.

Vince set down the diary, but held onto the pen, pressing the cap against his lips to emphasize the depth of his thoughts. Howard said he looked ridiculous, and had ruined a perfectly good pen.

"Why the flower show?" Vince asked, doing it again. Howard reached to take the pen from him, and he smiled.

"I wanted to do something both of us would enjoy. It's hard to come up with things like that, 'cause of you."

"Cos of me?" Vince was incredulous, "You say it all the time: that everything delights me, that I'd be just as happy living in a snowglobe, that I'm-"

He succeeded in snatching the pen away.

"I wanted to make _sure_ it was something you'd like. I didn't think I could go wrong with lots of bright flowers and - I don't know - there must be cameras there, and plenty of people."

Vince set one hand over Howard's chest, fingers lining the vest collar.

"Those are all things you hate."

Howard considered this. Vince splayed out his fingers, then drew them together again, slowly, until Howard formed a reply.

"I may have romanticised it a bit."

"A _bit_?" Vince grinned, eager for an explanation. He could feel Howard's heartbeat against his palm. _This_ was something both of them liked. It rooted all of their shared moments, however ridiculous either one might call them, in reality.

"Yeah. See I figured I'd surprise you - tell you to dress up in something smart - and when we'd get there, we'd just walk around and take it all in, with your arm in mine. No need to say anything to anyone. Maybe see the sunset. _That's_ what I liked about it."

"You are _such_ a romantic," Vince sighed, "You're well hopeless."

"D'you mind?"

Howard glared at Vince's hand, but he remained unconvinced, and didn't move it.

"None of that was bad. I _like_ romantic."

"Fine," said Howard, tapping Vince's hand to warn him that he wanted to get up, "You've got 'til eleven to get romantic, then."

Vince scooted back to his side of the bed, reaching for the alarm clock on his dresser.

"What am I doing up before eleven?"

"It's half-ten," Howard said, and immediately had to assure him that was plenty of time to make himself presentable.

" _Smart_ ," confirmed Vince, rummaging through his makeup case as he moved toward the closet. His closet, entirely, even since they began sharing the room. Howard kept his clothes in the set of drawers which used to separate the beds. Now it was against the opposing wall.

"I just meant 'don't look absurd.'"

Howard stood and moved to the drawers to sort out his own clothes for the day.

" _I_ think it means you wanted us to match," Vince said, unmistakably through the fabric of his pyjama shirt as he slipped it over his head, "And _that's_ absurd. What are you wearing?"

Howard looked at the jacket in question, resting patiently at the top of a stack of mostly-beige complements.

"Thought I'd wear a suit," he said.

"I should've known," Vince replied, muttering something more about romanticism.

Though their backs were always turned to each other when they got dressed in the mornings - based on an old and silently-made agreement - they maintained a fairly accurate sense of the other's body language. Whether through _vibrations_ or something else, neither knew. Nor cared. They didn't discuss the phenomenon; the point was that they did not need to.

"It's not tweed, is it?" Vince proceeded, based on the way he _knew_ Howard was looking at his choice.

"...No," Howard said to the decidedly tweed jacket.

"I can't match you if you're wearing tweed."

He could hear Vince sliding hangers about, swishing shirts back and forth to compare them. He could feel Vince pouting at them, too, because none of them were quite right. Howard wasn't changing the suit; that had been planned and ready for too long. Anyway, he'd gotten a new hat for it, and he quite liked it. He wouldn't bother telling Vince that bit.

"Has it got those patches on it that make you look like a maths teacher?"

Vince labelled him a different teacher every time his fashion was discussed; this was how he knew it wasn't really an insult.

"They are practical and sophisticated-"

"Sure they are. What colour?"

"Red."

Howard buttoned his shirt selection, which he had perhaps ironed too early, as it had managed to become slightly wrinkled during its time in the drawer. He forgot when he had last taken it out to check it.

" _Red_ red?"

"Burgundy red."

He could not recall ever seeing anything burgundy on Vince's ludicrous pinboard of 'style inspiration', taking up most of the wall beside the bedroom door. But it was updated more often than Howard remembered to check. Maybe...

" _Burgundy_?" Vince exclaimed, in the higher register he reserved for inconvenience, "I need more warning for things like that. Burgundy!"

But Howard could tell, based on the newly-slowed speed of screeching hangers, that Vince would find something. He put on the jacket now, too, tugging repeatedly at the cuffs until he was sure it fit the way he liked it. He wouldn't have a chance in front of the mirror until Vince was completely through, and even then, he knew Vince would be begging to fix his tie, despite the fact he knew several different knots. And had done them up already on every tie he owned, as evidence.

Clearly, Vince had found something suitable to wear, as Howard heard him setting out his makeup in front of the mirror. He turned around, and stood behind Vince's chair at what could only be described as the vanity. He'd installed lights in the mirror and everything. Fairy-lights, but still.

"That wasn't _that_ hard, was it?" Howard teased. Immediately Vince protested, citing his choice of shoes and scarf as the only remotely burgundy things he owned.

"And this is definitely more of a maroon," he whined, picking at the scarf.

Howard employed one of Vince's favorite inspirational phrases. But he did mean it.

"That is the best outfit you've ever worn."

"Thanks, Howard. We _will_ match all right," Vince smiled, reached to turn Howard's arm over, and inspected the colour of the patches. "Now, let's get your tie sorted..."

Somehow, Howard was always surprised at Vince's capacity to be so intensely and sincerely _gentle_. He folded up Howard's collar - after untying the samples Howard had brought to the table - and left one hand to guard the back of Howard's neck. He was deep in thought, comparing the colours and patterns while Howard watched him and decided ten different times against offering input.

Amazingly, Vince dedicated more of their limited time to this than to the whole of his 'look.' Howard wanted them to go out looking nice, and they would, Vince was determined. He kept his fingers over the finished tie for longer than necessary, just to be sure it felt exactly right.

"Good?" Howard had to sound at least mildly annoyed, or Vince would be stuck in his sleepy and affectionate trance for the rest of the day.

"Sorry, yeah," Vince said, "I felt like I was there already."

Howard gave up on separating himself. He reached for the new hat with his free hand, and guided Vince along with the other.

"Alright, little man. Let's go."

* * *

Vince would never argue about being delighted by 'the little things,' as Howard called them, split between envy and dismissal.

It must have seemed simple, he convinced himself, if you looked at it from outside their relationship. But, from where he was sitting, every moment and every interaction was new and exciting. He had never been happier than that night he and Howard settled on calling each other 'soulmates' (though he had managed to paint the moon and some stars on the ceiling before Howard woke up. Glow-in-the-dark paint and everything. Genius.)

His favourite part of the day, at that moment, was the way Howard leaned forward in his seat on the train, brushing up on some book on gardening he claimed he'd read twice before. It was a good angle for painting him, Vince thought. He would have to remember to do a portrait like that, soon. Howard would love it. He looked positively Edwardian.

This was quickly replaced by a new favourite, though, when they arrived and stood in the entrance queue. Vince was approached by _two_ separate media personalities, who naturally assumed he was someone important. He loved the way Howard encouraged him the first time, for a laugh, and protected him the second time, when the interviewer's questions became rather more personal.

Another contender was definitely the sunset. They found one of the quieter gardens and settled down on a marble bench. They leaned into each other, tugging at each other's sleeves instead of talking. Vince loved that.

And of course, he loved every single solitary _petal_ he'd laid eyes on over the course of the outing. He'd lost track of how many times he'd gone 'whoa' and made sure Howard looked at the right one.

The trip home was fine, too. Howard always got the window seat. Vince kicked off his boots, folded his legs up close to his chest, and promised he wouldn't fall asleep as he set his head over Howard's embarrassed-at-beating-any-quicker heart.

"Was that how you imagined it?" he asked. He felt Howard's breath, as he pulled him closer. It was rare for Howard to venture beyond protective and into achingly sweet when they were in public. Vince guessed it had gone well, then. Unless it had something to do with them having most of the compartment to themselves, where Howard could argue he was only being practical.

"Yeah," he replied, after a long while. Vince blinked happily, as he pressed their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss Howard's hand, but knew he wouldn't take well to the lipstick, however burgundy he called it.

"Alright, Man of Substance… what was your favourite part?"

"I made a list of them, actually."

"When on earth did you have time to do that?"

Vince could feel Howard's shrug, which was always, in itself, unsure. Vince clicked his tongue and wiggled one of his hands free, so he could search Howard's jacket-pocket for the diary.

"Unbelievable," he said, retrieving it and flipping it to the bookmarked page.

"Don't you laugh," Howard said flatly. His lips were too close to Vince's hair for him to sound any angrier. It was too comfortable there; it was soft and smelled predominantly of jasmine - which Howard only knew because Vince had told him. And it would be gone in an instant, if he managed to be genuinely irritating.

"Oh, I'm going to," Vince promised, in a snappy but insincere voice.

There, in the margins beside the current date, he found the list.

1\. Vince looked absolutely amazing today.

2\. He introduced me as his partner to an interviewer.  
Right into the microphone.

3\. Walked around arm-in-arm, like something  
out of that Edwardian novel I need to write.

4\. Didn't need to say a word.

"You aren't laughing," Howard nearly whispered, after he was sure Vince had time to read the whole thing. He was afraid Vince had fallen asleep, and immediately reached to collect his shoes so he wouldn't forget them.

"No," Vince said, "It's too sweet to laugh at. It's like you fed me a whole circus-tent of candyfloss. It's great now, but I won't be feeling it tomorrow. I'll probably call it 'pathetic' or 'embarrassing' in the morning. Just so you know. But right now…?"

Vince realised, at this point, that they had more in common than he had ever considered.

And that was his new favourite part of the day. That, and the way he could feel Howard's breath on his neck… and…

Howard nudged him away, as if urging him to pick one. _Settle_.

"I have," Vince said, leaning in until their noses touched. _Obviously on you_ , this said.

"Fine," Howard said softly, voice stretched for want of sleep. Vince loved it that way.

"When's our next date?"

" _Outing_."

"Yeah, _partner_. That too."


	3. Chapter 3

In his latest protest, Vince had managed to drape himself over the whole of the sofa. He stared up at the ceiling, folding his arms every time he thought Howard was looking at him.

"I'm bored."

"Naboo's been gone _ten minutes_ ," Howard threw back. He was skimming the shelves of his DVD collection, and urged Vince _again_ to do the same.

"I don't do films," Vince shrugged.

"You always manage to come up with one, when it's your turn to pick."

"Those are normal nights," Vince said, "Naboo's gonna be gone for the whole _weekend_ , didn't he tell you?"

Howard rolled his eyes. He hadn't.

"Exactly," Vince replied, "We're not wasting a chance like that on the dullest thing you can dig out of that shelf."

Vince was, somehow, extra intuitive this evening. Howard _had_ settled on one of the quieter and slower-moving films, knowing Vince would give up on understanding the story and would instead fall asleep against his shoulder. Because it was their night in together, and Vince wouldn't sacrifice that opportunity, even over a movie he hated.

"What did you have in mind?" Howard said, hesitantly. Once Vince, whose attention-span was easily satisfied, diagnosed himself as 'bored', it took something drastic to revive him.

"D'you know why they're out for the weekend?"

"No…?"

"Basically, okay, they do this race every year for familiars on magic carpets. So that's all he's taken with him."

"What's your point?"

"Well, he'll have left all his books and potions here."

Howard moved away from the shelves, in order to give Vince the condescending staredown he deserved.

"Not with any of the serious ones," Vince continued. "That beige book he's got oughtta be right up your street."

"Get up."

Vince's eyes widened, and he followed Howard into Naboo's room, boredom dissipating with every step.

Howard only looked through the bookshelf after Vince nudged him toward it; he was determined to stay out of anything Naboo could blame him for breaking. As with most things, Vince had the opposite inclination. He dove immediately into a gilded trunk and scooped out anything that looked interesting.

"Howard," Vince said, repeatedly, until he earned Howard's full attention, "Check _this_ out."

He held up what seemed to be a glass bauble, filled with water and dark glitter, dangling from a chain. Vince tilted it one way, to indicate there was something more exciting in the middle, which could only be seen once the clouds of glitter had settled.

"What's that?"

"Well," Vince said, "I was trying to read the square in the middle, but that's impossible. I think the letters are changing. Come look."

"In a minute," Howard paused to remove his choice of book from the shelf. The spine said 'beginner' very clearly, and something else miserably smudged out, and he thought that was a safe place to start.

Vince held the chain up at each side of his neck.

"Wha'd'ya reckon?"

"...Why?"

"It's so interesting," Vince was pleased with his discovery, and clasped it around his neck.

There was a startling crash of thunder, followed by a bolt of lightning that seemed to split the bedroom window down the middle. Howard jumped back at first, but tried to recover.

"Did that… do that?"

Vince held it up, but this only turned the letters upside-down.

"Dunno."

Rain slammed against the window, in sheets.

"This is genius," Vince said, setting the charm back against his chest, "Let's watch _this_."

 _What, like a film_? Howard meant to ask, before Vince took his hand and led him cheerfully back to the sofa.

"It'll be just like those times, back at the zoo," Vince proceeded. He turned, to provide Howard with a momentary view of his most charming smile. A second of seeing it, Vince knew, was enough to get Howard to do anything, usually without further instruction.

Like turning the couch and pushing it back against the bannister, so it faced the window. Vince had to set Howard down against his preferred armrest, blinking and shaking himself free of the smile's power. Vince laughed to himself, satisfied, and found something he wanted to work on.

"Will you get that flannel off the bed?" Vince asked. He was busy comparing coats from the hooks on the wall, then sorting through his sewing kit for a thread to match. When he returned to the couch, Howard was waiting with the blanket, stretched over his arm.

The curtains were open, allowing them to watch the raindrops race down the glass, cheered on by alternate bursts of thunder and lightning. Much better than any movie.

Vince leaned into Howard's shoulder, allowing him to wrap them both up in the blanket. He folded his legs up onto the couch, and set his coat over his knees to work on.

"Almost _exactly_ like that night at the zoo, now," he said happily.

"Yeah?" breathed Howard, staring forward, "'Cept we were sitting on the floor, on two separate mattresses with two awful blankets."

Vince was adjusting the hem on the coat. Howard's coat, clearly.

"Yeah," Vince agreed, "but the feeling was the same. The vibe."

"The _vibe_?" Howard turned. He noticed Vince's sewing project, too, but decided it was better to ruin the coat than the conversation.

"Yeah. I love rainstorms. Just sitting like that in the hut… I always felt so comfortable and safe with you. God," he added, whining slightly, "I was _so_ in love with you then, it was embarrassing."

Howard tried to decide how to convey 'what are you now, then?', 'you can always feel safe with me,' and 'were you really?!' all at once. Vince would understand perfectly, as he divided the thoughts up. The first was given to his eyes, as he turned to Vince and quirked his brow. For the second, he tightened his reach around Vince's shoulder, and _almost_ kissed his head, stopping with just enough distance to preserve Vince's hairstyle. The last, he spoke.

"Yes, really," Vince mumbled back, "It was so obvious, Howard, you _must've_ known. I felt like _such_ an idiot."

" _I_ feel like an idiot... I didn't know."

"I thought there was something wrong with me," Vince tried to make it sound like a joke, but spoke too quickly, "I was so nervous around you, always waffling on, even though I'd known you forever… I think I was waiting for you to do something. And that took you long enough."

"You should've said something," Howard argued, with the calm superiority that had originally put them in this position. Vince nodded at him, to point this out. "Fair point."

"It's fine," Vince brushed Howard's hand, then returned to his work on the sleeves, "We figured it out, eventually."

"I think we still are."

The glitter settled against one wall of Vince's necklace. All the lightning, now, appeared in that side of the sky.

"D'y' know what?" Vince began, in the endlessly charming tone Howard felt at home with, "When we first started there, doing nightwatch, I used to put your jacket on first thing in the morning. Before you woke up."

Howard could not think of anything more delightfully engaging than a _new_ story, from the one person he thought he completely knew.

"You did?"

"Sometimes. But one morning, after a night like this with the rain… I remember, you couldn't sleep because of the sound it made, so when it stopped in the morning you slept through half the shift. I got up before you, and I stood there, wearing your jacket. It wasn't on purpose," he quickly added, "I'd tried to find mine in the dark, 'cos it was so cold in there, do you remember?"

Howard nodded. Vince trimmed the thread and poked the needle into the empty cushion beside them, so he could focus fully on the story.

"I was freezing, and I'd usually just take half your blanket, but I felt bad about waking you up again. I leaned over and grabbed a jacket, and it was yours. That's what started it, me being hopeless and lovesick and _embarrassing_."

"What are you saying?" Howard led gently, "All that, from my uniform?"

"Well I did go through your pockets," Vince added with a chuckle.

"You did what?" At any other time, Howard was convinced he would have remembered the complete list of things he kept in his Zooniverse uniform. But now, under the pressure, and based on the weight of Vince's smile, all he could come up with was 'something embarrassing.' And that wasn't much help.

"There was nothing else to do."

Howard moved his hand back to the armrest, in the surest display of disapproval he could think of.

"The inner one was _just_ ticket stubs," Vince continued, undeterred, "films that I thought were too old and boring to be in cinemas, bands I've still never heard of, and one from that porpoise race. And I thought 'why would you need a ticket for _that_?' but then I remembered _I_ was supposed to be the one in it, and figured you planned on watching."

Howard nodded, silenced by nostalgia. Vince didn't mind; he understood and enjoyed his role as the storyteller.

"And then in the front ones, loads of those tabs off coke cans," he toyed with the pockets on the jacket he held, currently, and wondered if anything similar was inside. But Howard was there, and he wouldn't trouble him by looking.

"Yeah. They always broke off when I opened them. I didn't want to leave them lying about."

"Or you didn't want people seeing you'd broke 'em," Vince hummed. "And all the sweets wrappers, written in Spanish? I couldn't figure out where you got them from; drove me mad. What were they about?"

"Mexico. You can't get anything that spicy here."

" _Spicy_?" Vince was entertained, "You're so _beige_ , Howard, you're like a korma. You don't do spicy."

The lightning, throughout their conversation, became more distant. Howard shrugged and reached to shake Vince's necklace, just enough to bring it back.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"As if."

Howard's hand slipped down from Vince's shoulder, and settled over his forearm. On his way to meet it, Vince brushed the necklace. The thunder returned, rattling the windows. Howard tightened the blanket around them.

"I might fall asleep," Vince said.

Howard knew better than to ask if he was serious. Vince could fall asleep anywhere.

"I was counting on that," he said, instead.

"You're so weird."

As he leaned in, pressing his face gently against Howard's neck, the glitter in the necklace shifted to the other side. Howard thought he could hear the stairs creaking, but convinced himself it was anything else, dictated by storm. When Vince wasn't awake to distract him, he had a habit of worrying about everything.

He reached for Vince's wrist, where the sleeve was crumpled up, and stroked back and forth with his thumb. Again, he heard another small noise somewhere behind them. But Vince was so comfortable, he couldn't turn his head to check.

The noise gradually became an "ugh."

Howard squeezed Vince's wrist until he was noticeably awake, blinking and sighing at him.

"Alright, Naboo," he said, back to the noise.

"You're home early," Howard said, still unconvinced this was Naboo they were talking to. It could've been any number of unwelcome visitors.

"Have you been going through my stuff again?"

It was Naboo. Howard immediately shook his head.

"They rescheduled," Naboo explained, stepping around to Vince's side of the sofa. He reached to take the needle out, first, making a point of not looking at the others, until something shiny caught his attention, "And _that_ must be why. Unbelievable. Howard, I _knew_ you were going through my stuff."

He waited, glaring, until Vince took off the necklace, set it on the coffee table, and apologised falsely on Howard's behalf.

"You could've at least read the instructions, you ballbag. Could've done _anything_ but rain."

"Won't happen again," Howard said, rolling his eyes at Vince.

"Isn't there anything else you can do to… whatever it is you two do… claim each other?"

Vince laughed, and simply wished Naboo a good night, smiling the whole time. No one was immune to it.

"You _are_ ridiculous," Vince said to Howard, when they were alone again.

Gradually, the rain subsided. The room was dark and quiet, but warm.

"I'm going back to sleep," Vince said, in place of an apology, "Did you want to move to the bed?"

"No, this is fine for now. Let me have m' coat."

Vince's eyes were already decidedly shut when he reached to pass it over. Howard took the necklace from the table, and slid it into his jacket pocket.


End file.
